Comparing Notes
by SadArticle
Summary: Classic Knight Rider. Short and sweet, a coda for the second season episode 'A Good Knight's Work'. When Kitt complained to Michael about being deactivated, Michael told him 'we'll compare notes later', so here is my take on that discussion.


Comparing Notes

Michael Knight checked the door mirror, and then shifted in his seat to peer out of the rear window. "Should we go back for him?"

The car's engine growled and kicked up a gear. "Absolutely not," Kitt told his driver, "and _it_ is an _it_."

Michael smiled to himself at the irony of his partner's words. He could recall using the exact same argument with Devon Miles, nearly two years ago now, about the computer lurking in his car. "Perhaps we should take him to a hospital."

"A hospital?" Kitt's voice modulator flashed with indignation. "Really, Michael, that's taking the joke too far."

"For the kids!" Michael couldn't help laughing. "I bet they'd love Mighty Mouth."

There was a moment's hesitation before Kitt replied, which for him was the equivalent of sulking in silence for an hour. "Yes, and that was the prototype as well. There's always the other bear, I suppose."

A question occurred to Michael. "Where did Zachary get hold of the original?"

"And who did he steal it from," Kitt added. "He certainly went to a lot of trouble, didn't he?"

Michael nodded slowly. Stealing a prototype toy and manipulating Gina Adams were all in a day's work for Cameron Zachary, but he had been out for blood this time, not money. Michael Long's blood, demanded in retribution by Tanya Walker's lover: a new life for an old death.

"Michael?"

"Yeah, Kitt," he sighed.

"I was just going to remind you that I also have a copy of the schematics for that ball of fluff, if we should ever hear from its rightful inventor," Kitt said.

"Michael, are you all right?" he prompted when his partner didn't reply.

They turned onto the freeway, heading for home. Michael glanced at the dash, imagining Kitt's CPU behind the superficial display of lights and gauges. He had recently held that small black box, with its flashing diodes and trailing perceptor wires, in his hands, and learned a valuable lesson from the experience. The circuitry and code were still beyond his comprehension, but he knew now that the brain of the car was also its heart and soul.

"Kitt, I owe you an apology for shutting you down like that," he said, his eyes straying to their usual point of focus when he talked to Kitt. There were cameras located at various strategic points around the cabin interior, allowing Kitt to observe his driver and any passengers, but Michael always looked towards the twin CRT screens. "Did it cause any damage?"

"Not at all, Michael," Kitt answered, sounding slightly nonplussed by the question. "It was the same procedure I go through whenever I shut down to charge my power packs. The only part I objected to was leaving you alone in an obviously dangerous situation." His voice hardened. "That is hardly what Wilton Knight had in mind when he created me to be your partner, Michael."

Michael held up a hand. "I know, I know," he said, "but that's not what I meant. It must have been like sensory deprivation, cutting yourself off so suddenly – even that little TV set had cameras and a microphone!"

"That 'little TV set' is actually a portable recovery unit, and please do not remind me," Kitt corrected him. "Yes, being left in the dark, as it were, was distressing for me, but it was only for fifty seven point three minutes."

"Oh, not even a round hour? Felt like longer to me," Michael joked. "So you were aware of those fifty-odd minutes?"

"Every second," the computer confirmed. "I remained alert throughout, monitoring your vital signs and waiting for the signal from April's transmitter."

Michael pressed his fingers to the medallion around his neck.

"I think you can take it off now, Michael," Kitt observed drily.

"Hey, I like it!"

"You would."

"What if I need to call you to my rescue another time?"

"More than likely, but the comlink has always sufficed in the past," Kitt told him. "Assuming I'm able to drive to your aid, that is."

"I hope you are, buddy," Michael agreed. "And I'm sorry for leaving you in the dark, but if it's any consolation, I know how you feel," he said bitterly. "Devon didn't think I needed to be told about Cameron Zachary, just like Garthe slipped his mind and KARR was all in the past."

"But how could Devon have known that Gina was working for Zachary?"

"That's not the point, Kitt," he snapped. "I wasn't told that Tanya Walker was on Zachary's payroll – or in his bed! _She_ was the one who conned Wilton Knight and Charles Acton, and it was Tanya who shot me in the face!"

He slammed his open palm against the steering wheel, struggling to control his breathing and his anger. "If I was any kind of cop, I should have gone after Zachary."

"Gone where, and to what purpose?" Kitt countered when Michael fell silent. "He's been out of the country for two years, and I suspect you are underestimating Tanya Walker's part in their crimes. Surely my creator's vision is worth more than that?"

Michael inhaled slowly. He suddenly felt trapped in the compact space of Kitt's cabin, whereas the curve of the dash around his seat and the empty interior surrounding him usually gave him a sense of control and safety.

"You wouldn't understand, Kitt," he said, and then regretted his words.

Of course Kitt understood – Wilton Knight had created them both, and for the same purpose. The old man had wanted to make a difference where the law only made a mockery of justice; armed and allied with Kitt, Michael was to be that active agency, the one remaining defence against powerful criminals like Zachary. It was a righteous vision and a satisfying career for an ex-cop, but there was a catch.

Wilton Knight might have given Michael a second chance at life, but it was to be a life lived for others. Michael had told Gina that he was proud to have the name of the man who saved his life, and he meant it, but he was always silently afraid that the name had changed him and not the other way around. Kitt was the Knight Industries Two Thousand, created by Wilton Knight and funded by his legacy, but Michael was still fighting that stamp of ownership.

"I understand that you're still upset," Kitt answered neutrally. "Cameron Zachary was an unpleasant reminder of the past. But Michael, that's over now – Zachary is where he belongs, and Gina is free to start again. Why are you angry with Devon, and with Wilton Knight?"

Kitt always referred to his creator by his full name, still respectful of the man who barely lived to see him activated. Michael smiled sadly at his partner's unwavering loyalty.

"I'm not angry with Devon, Kitt," he said. "I just wish he'd told me about Zachary after Tanya's death. Then at least I would have been prepared for this. It would have been my decision."

They travelled along in silence for a while, sharing the true companionship of the open road. Eighteen months of learning to communicate with each other meant that they no longer had to speak to be heard. Michael could read Kitt's language of silences, from concentration to disapproval, and Kitt knew from his partner's body language what sort of mood Michael was in.

"Michael, when I asked how people know who to trust, you told me that they don't, that they've just got to take their chances."

"That's right," Michael answered him. He thought of Gina Adams, or whoever she would become under witness protection, and the moment when his faith in her was tested.

_I'm sorry, Michael. I don't have any choice._

That gun in his face had been a living nightmare. He still woke up in a cold sweat, blinded by the muzzle flash of Tanya Walker's pistol, screaming in pain. And at that moment, it hadn't mattered that a petite brunette and not a flashy blonde was standing before him, because it was still Zachary pulling the strings.

Michael Long paid with his life for trusting Tanya Walker, but Michael _Knight_ had a choice: reach out to Gina Adams, talk her over to his side, or never wake from the nightmare again. And he had trusted her, believing more in what she was not telling him about her relationship with Zachary than her sob story about misguided ambition. After that, it was easy to face his demons.

"What's your point, Kitt?"

"Only that Wilton Knight was right to take a chance on you," the computer replied simply. "He gave you his name and the keys to his multi-million dollar prototype, knowing that he wouldn't live long enough to have his confidence in your abilities justified. Wilton Knight trusted you, Michael, and I do too."

"Are you sure?" Michael asked with a smile. "What about when I hand over multi-million dollar prototypes to industrial pirates?"

"Even then, Michael," Kitt said drily. "As long as I know that you are safe."

Looking around him at the other cars on the freeway, Michael watched the faces of drivers and passengers. Yawning, talking, singing with the radio; driving with both hands on the wheel, or leaning an elbow out of the window; wearing shirts and ties, with a jacket hung up in the back, or dressed for summer. All were moving in the same direction, surrounded by other vehicles, yet secure within the confines of their own personal space.

Michael clutched the warm gold of the redundant homing device in his hand.

"I'm lucky to have you with me, partner."

FIN


End file.
